Now fascinated.
This isn't really a marooned-casual, one man island, bro I'm doing fine kind of thing. (Sounds like a job, not like ~art. I tell myself stuff as if it matters.)
I chose this lonely house with the rotting fascia. I send my boyfriend information about cryopreservation, hoping to one day hoard his savagery in a deepfreezer emblazoned with scenes from the trail of tears,
so don't get me started on dysfunction. Sort of fascinated with the itsy bitsy spider, with the painted rectangle, with the street walkers and their cellulite visible from the turning lane. My ***** bullet braining radio waves and squeaking a little - it
isn't like it's warm until you step into someone's house, the carpet orange and paneling boxing up misfortune -
it's cold,
it's raining forty nine degrees of october.